Pathway to Japanese Literature

The season of snow came again. Speaking of snow, I immediately recalled poor Asami Sanshirō. At that time, I was working as an ordinary Japanese teacher at a prefectural girls' school in a certain town in the far north—let’s call it H City—in that very H City. Asami Sanshirō was an English teacher at the same girls' school and my closest friend at the time.

Sanshirō's family home was in Tokyo. His family was a fairly wealthy merchant household, but Sanshirō—being the second son and of an unconventional disposition—had become a teacher upon graduating from W University's English department, readily embarking on an itinerant career. He had apparently aspired to literature, but having never achieved those ambitions, by the time we met in H City he was already in his thirties and a good father to an eight-year-old child. Though somewhat short-tempered, this very quality made him an exceptionally good-natured man devoid of malice, and I quickly grew close to him. To be clear, I wasn't his closest companion. Everyone took to Sanshirō—there wasn't a soul who didn't harbor some affection for him. This was likely partly due to his family's wealth; among the faculty he maintained an open-hearted demeanor, all his interactions radiating cheerfulness without a trace of affected intellectualism. How could such a man tread literature's shadowed path? Though our friendship developed effortlessly, I recognized this truth almost immediately.

What was particularly heartwarming was Sanshirō at home. How deeply he loved his beautiful wife and only child was manifested in the female students’ admiration and envy that went beyond mere fleeting fancy. In truth, I had never heard any of the nicknames that every teacher inevitably received, where Sanshirō was concerned. That itself was truly a mystery. Looking back now, perhaps all the seeds of calamity had already taken deep root within Sanshirō’s very harmonious disposition.

At that time, I was living closest to Sanshirō’s residence in the suburbs of H City. Thus it fell to me to receive the first dreadful news of the incident—a cruel twist of timing, for Sanshirō himself had been away from home during that period—and caught unprepared, I was thrown into complete disarray. Sanshirō had been away because he had been dispatched as a temporary lecturer to a newly established agricultural school in the prefecture’s mountainous region under orders from the academic affairs department, spending the final month of the term there. The agricultural school was scheduled to begin its winter vacation from the 25th. Therefore, Sanshirō was supposed to return to his home in H City on the evening of the 25th. Yet the unfortunate event occurred a day before his scheduled return, on the evening of the 24th.

At that time, a student named Oikawa from M University—Hiroko’s younger male cousin—had been staying at Sanshirō’s vacant house since the beginning of the month. Regarding this man, I did not know much in detail. He was simply a bright, upstanding young man who belonged to his university’s ski club and came to his cousin’s home in the snow country every winter—that was all I knew. Indeed, in the suburbs of H City, once December arrived, one could already strap on skis right from beneath the eaves. Oikawa, Hiroko, and Haruo—Sanshirō’s cherished only child, who had just started elementary school that spring—were living in the vacant house. In other words, Oikawa was serving as a sort of watchman for Sanshirō’s vacant house.

However, the bizarre event descended as if conjured from thin air despite all that. Now, on that December 24th evening, the leaden sky that had been gloomy since morning crumbled at dusk, and white flakes began fluttering down. The snow that had initially been drifting down without any real intent to fall gradually increased in intensity between six and seven o'clock, fell fiercely for a time, but at eight o'clock stopped as abruptly as if a gauze curtain had been lifted—through the sudden gaps in the snowfall spread a deeply clear, piercingly bright starry sky. However, such sudden meteorological shifts were not considered particularly unusual in this region. Whenever winter deepened around the coldest thirty days, the weather would grow strangely subdued. Day after day, the skies would remain drearily overcast throughout daylight hours only to ironically clear up crisply at night as moon and stars began shining coldly against a piercing indigo expanse. The local people called this phenomenon “Clear Winter Night.”

Having finished a late dinner at eight o'clock, I was preparing to depart on a trip somewhere south now that the girls' school had entered its vacation period.

A student named Miki from Supplementary Class A, where Sanshirō served as homeroom teacher, came tumbling in and brought news of the violent incident that had occurred at Sanshirō’s vacant house. Feeling as though I’d been doused with cold water under that frigid sky, I nonetheless strapped on my skis and began rushing off in a flustered panic alongside Miki. When we left the house, the Christmas Eve bells from the city church immediately began tolling, so it must have already been nine o’clock by then.

Miki was a large-framed, fresh-faced girl—one of those precocious types you’d invariably find in twos or threes at any girls’ school. She knew how to apply makeup, changed her skirt length frequently, and would fill the margins of her notebook with tiny scribblings of poets’ names. Miki also often came to visit Sanshirō. “I receive instruction in literature from Mr. Asami,” she would say. While making such claims, she had apparently visited frequently even during Sanshirō’s absence, so perhaps this “literature” lay not with Sanshirō but with Oikawa. In any case, Miki had reportedly gone to visit Sanshirō’s house that night as well. But finding the door unlocked yet sensing no presence inside, she suddenly grew suspicious and, with her usual nonchalance, tried opening the door leading from the entrance to the interior. And upon discovering the bizarre incident inside the house, she had reportedly rushed to my place—the nearest one—to report it.

Now, from my house to Sanshirō's house, it wouldn't take more than ten minutes on skis.

Sanshirō’s residence was a chic hut-style dwelling with log timbers arranged in moderation, the rightmost of three similarly lined-up houses. The leftmost house had curtains drawn over its windows, perhaps already retired for the night; the middle house stood dark with a rental notice affixed. When we reached Sanshirō’s house, Miki was already trembling so violently she could no longer move. Therefore, I sent her running to the house of Mr. Tabei, a physics teacher at the same girls’ school not far from here. Steeling myself despite my stiffness, I resolutely entered Sanshirō’s house.

The room next to the entrance was the child’s room. On the wall were pinned childish crayon drawings titled “Army General” and “Soldier with Tulips.” In the middle of the room sat a small potted fir tree; upon its lush branches hung floral shapes and chains crafted from gold-threaded tinsel and colored paper, with white cotton snow heaped atop them. It was the Christmas tree Sanshirō had bought and potted for his beloved Haruo before leaving to serve as a temporary lecturer.

However, what I noticed first upon entering that room was the bed of the Christmas tree's little master laid out before a small desk in the corner. The bedding had been thrown back, and there was no sign of the child who should have been sleeping there. The silver-paper star of the Christmas tree that had lost its master glittered as it swayed in the sudden draft, beginning to spin. But in the next instant, I found Oikawa—the room's other temporary occupant—lying face down at the open doorway leading to the inner parlor, his head turned toward me. I involuntarily held my breath, but sensing through the open doorway that the parlor beyond seemed disordered in some way, I immediately steadied myself and crept on tiptoe toward the threshold. Peering into the parlor while comparing it to the figure collapsed at my feet...

There lay Hiroko—Sanshirō’s wife—collapsed with her head pressed against the stove mounted on a corrugated iron-framed board. Her singed hair filled the room with an unbearable stench. I stood frozen, trembling violently from fear and shock, but steeling myself with desperate resolve, I crouched down and hesitantly touched Oikawa’s body at my feet. But of course, it was no longer the body of a living person.

Both Oikawa and Hiroko appeared to have put up considerable resistance, lying collapsed in states of extreme disarray. Both of them had numerous purple welts resembling earthworms visible across all exposed areas—from foreheads and faces down to arms and necks—as if they had been beaten with something. However, the murder weapon immediately became apparent. Near Oikawa’s feet lay an iron stove ash rake bent into a blunt L-shape and thrown aside. The room too had been violently scattered. Chairs lay overturned; the table had been shifted aside; what appeared to be a large cardboard toy box once placed atop it now lay hurled onto the floor before the sofa—soaked and trampled—its contents of toy trains, mascots, and a large beautiful spinning top scattered amidst similarly spilled caramels, bonbons, and chocolate animals; there too lingered a vacant innocence among toys that had lost their little master.

Had I rushed into a stranger’s house under such circumstances and encountered that scene, I likely wouldn’t have been able to examine the crime scene’s state in such meticulous detail. Terrified out of my wits by the sight of corpses, I would have undoubtedly bolted straight to the police box. But at that moment, I was gripped by a terror far more dreadful than anything visible—an invisible horror. When I rushed into the house, the first thing I noticed was the child’s absence. Strange as it was, I felt searing anxiety for the abducted child’s safety rather than horror at the murdered people before me. I too, like Oikawa and Hiroko, bore responsibility toward Sanshirō during his absence.

Sanshirō’s house was divided into four rooms in total. So, steeling my trembling heart, I immediately began searching the remaining rooms; yet even after scouring the entire house, there was no sign of the child anywhere. However, as I was doing so, I suddenly remembered something and involuntarily gasped to a halt. It was that the sliding window of the tragedy-stricken room had been left open. There was no need to think—this was certainly strange. There’s no reason for a room’s window to remain wide open on a bitterly cold night like this. I immediately conjured up an image of the suspicious man who had bludgeoned two adults and snatched away the child fleeing frantically through that window without even closing it behind him. Thereupon, I fearfully returned to the original room. And, as if bracing against an unseen enemy, I pressed myself against the wall and cautiously peered out through the window.

On the snow beneath the window lay exactly what I had anticipated. Clearly visible even in the darkness were the chaotic tracks left by what appeared to be skis departing from that spot. And from those chaotic tracks emerged two parallel streaks that slid through a gap in the hedge before vanishing into faintly pale darkness. From beyond that gloom under the starry sky still rang the unceasing Christmas bells—clear and eerily distant like a devil’s whisper—clang... clong... their metallic tolls reverberating through the night.

I resolved without delay. Then immediately returning to the entrance, I strapped on my skis there and rushed outside. Circling around the back door, I arrived beneath the open parlor window on the rear side. The ski tracks left on the snow were indeed two parallel lines—undoubtedly the trail of a single person's passage. Taking care not to disturb them, I crossed through a gap in the hedge and immediately began following the tracks. However, shortly after beginning to walk, I discovered a significant clue. The reason being, though it was flatland skiing, the ski tracks showed no use of both poles. On the left side of the ski tracks, traces of snow scattered by snow rings from the pole tip were visible every few meters—apparently having planted a pole there—but none existed on the right side.

My chest began to pound. My prediction proved correct. The skier had planted his left pole while being unable to use his right. That hand must have been clutching something instead of a pole. The image of the child—struggling in the suspicious man's arms as he carried him off—appeared behind my eyelids. I kept following the ski tracks, growing more rigid as I constantly scanned ahead.

The mysterious skis crossed over the hedge, passed through the vacant lot, and continued toward the quiet back street. This area was a newly developed residential district on the outskirts of H City, where houses with lush plantings were sparsely scattered, and snow-covered expanses that were neither vacant lots nor farmland stretched out everywhere.

The snow was virgin snow fallen from evening until eight o’clock; on its pristine surface lay almost no other ski tracks—save occasional intersections with fresh trails before houses or tangles of dog prints—leaving nothing to obstruct the mysterious skier’s path. After all, we were dealing with that particular adversary. Trembling with dread yet growing ever more cautious, I continued gliding beneath the starry night sky. The mysterious skis soon turned right onto the back street and entered a wide expanse of snow. Beyond that vacant lot lay the main road that passed in front of Sanshirō’s house and led into the city. The ski tracks headed toward the city, diagonally crossing the vacant lot, apparently intending to switch over to the main road ahead. At this rate, I might be able to call for police backup along the way. I suddenly felt invigorated and ran diagonally across the considerably wide vacant lot toward the main road ahead. However, my plan ended in a result that was utterly absurd.

My initial conviction that the ski tracks had switched over to the main road was fundamentally flawed from the start. Proceeding with that intent, I diagonally crossed the snow-covered field only to realize—after traversing more than half of the vacant lot—that I had unwittingly lost sight of those mysterious ski tracks. Startled, I frantically scanned my surroundings. But there was nothing on the snow’s surface. Only my own tracks remained—winding their way bit by bit with infuriating leisure.

Scolding myself all the while, I hastily turned about. While frantically looking around, I began backtracking toward the entrance of the vacant lot. No matter how much I backtracked or how frantically I looked around, the mysterious ski tracks remained nowhere to be found. "This is strange," I thought, growing increasingly flustered. However, upon nearing the entrance to the vacant lot, I finally rediscovered the ski tracks on the pale snow's surface. Relieved and determined not to lose them again, I drew close to the tracks and began advancing as if reeling in a thread. Following them this way revealed they indeed cut diagonally across the vacant lot toward the main road. Why on earth had I lost sight of them? I continued watching the tracks intently while repeatedly berating myself. Yet as I proceeded with redoubled caution, I finally noticed something truly bizarre.

The reason being this: upon nearing the very center of the vacant lot, those enigmatic ski tracks had inexplicably grown faint—or rather, though the impressions atop fresh snow over older snow had never been deep to begin with, they now grew shallower still. What could this mean? As I proceeded, as I pressed forward, they grew ever more shallow and thin, disregarding my mounting astonishment, until reaching the midpoint of the lot—whereupon, as if whatever had glided across them had swooped up into the night sky in one smooth motion, their shadowy traces faded and ultimately vanished entirely.

The manner of their disappearance was such that, no matter how one considered it, either the skier had grown wings or snow had later fallen upon the tracks and erased them—a bizarrely vivid vanishing that left no other possible explanation.

Though flustered, I threw myself into thinking. However, as I mentioned earlier, the snow that had been falling heavily since evening abruptly ceased at eight o'clock and remained that way as a "Clear Winter Night"—afterward, not a single flake fell. Even if it had snowed again, why would the snow that erased the tracks from here onward not have erased those from the crime scene to here? The snow had fallen everywhere; all traces must have been erased.—Then perhaps some strange blizzard phenomenon had occurred in that vacant lot, where wind-whipped snow accumulated and erased those particular tracks? But there should have been no wind strong enough to cause such a blizzard that night—I stood frozen in the snow-covered lot like a man possessed.

The uncanny peal of bells that still refused to cease kept trembling through the clear air like a devil's derision.

However, I could not remain standing here frozen forever. The kidnapped child's welfare demanded urgent attention. There were two corpses in the house. Now there was no alternative—I had to notify the police without hesitation.

Having resolved myself, I immediately started running straight toward the city. Rushing into the nearest police box to report the incident and retracing my original route back with a young officer from there, yet I couldn't help but remain preoccupied with the vanishing in the snow-covered lot.

By the time we finally reached Sanshirō’s house, two or three neighbors who had apparently caught wind of the incident were already there with skis strapped on, preparing to report to the police. In front of Sanshirō’s house, Miki stood among those people wearing a disoriented expression that threatened tears. Inside the house, Mr. Tabei—whom I had sent Miki to summon—was likely thinking the same thing I was, rattling doors as he searched from room to room for the child’s whereabouts.

When the police officer entered the house and saw the scene, he immediately requested that Mr. Tabei and I refrain from disturbing the room until officials from the main station arrived. Then, after setting up in the annex that served as Sanshirō’s study, he called Miki in from outside and began conducting a preliminary inquiry into the circumstances. Both Miki and I had become completely flustered, talking over each other and backtracking as we explained the path of discovery as previously described and details about the family living in this house. However, Mr. Tabei remained quite composed and spoke little.

Before long, when a portly officer who appeared to be a superior arrived with several subordinates, the examination of the crime scene commenced. Pop, pop—two or three flashes went off, and photographs of the crime scene were taken. When they finished with the crime scene, the police officers circled around the outside of the house and gathered beneath the windows. The portly superior officer had been receiving reports from the young officer and surveying the state of the corpses when, upon seeing the officers outside the window begin bustling about and leaving ski tracks as they crossed through gaps in the hedge into the vacant lot beyond, he restlessly entrusted the remaining tasks to the young officer and stepped outside.

I wrote a telegram addressed to Sanshirō and had Miki take it and run to the post office.

And with finally regained composure, I came face to face with Mr. Tabei. Mr. Tabei had maintained his calm since earlier when I was explaining matters to the police officers, but now he appeared not merely composed—rather, utterly absorbed in contemplation. What could he possibly be pondering so deeply? Had he discovered some crucial thread of reasoning? “Mr. Tabei.” I addressed him decisively.

“How exactly are you considering this matter?” “Considering in what sense?” Mr. Tabei raised his face and blinked rapidly. “To put it plainly,” I said while looking toward the other room, “as you’d understand upon seeing it yourself—the footprints of that man who committed such cruelty, stole the child, and fled have completely vanished as if they’d soared into thin air. A most peculiar occurrence.”

“That’s true.” “It is certainly strange.” “However, if we’re to call it strange—this incident has been nothing but strange occurrences from the very beginning.”

“Hmm, that’s…” “Do you believe the toys and sweets scattered in that room had been there from the beginning—that is, before this incident occurred?” “Well, I suppose those things had been in that room all along, being eaten and played with.”

“I don’t think that’s the case. At the very least, if there had been partially eaten items, there should have been discarded silver foil or wax paper from caramels or chocolates—but when I searched earlier before the police arrived, there was nothing at all. Moreover, all those toys scattered about are brand new items. First of all—it’s peculiar how that cardboard toy box torn and discarded before the sofa was damp without any traces of spilled tea… I believe that was due to a small amount of snow having accumulated on its lid, which then melted from the room’s temperature.” Here Mr. Tabei shifted his tone and fixedly peered into my eyes as though searching their depths. “…Ah yes—there’s no need to dwell on such trifles. The elements of mystery were assembled from the very beginning. After all… on Christmas Eve… riding skis across the snow… entering and exiting through windows… and then returning to heaven…”

Mr. Tabei suddenly fell silent and, once more gazing into my eyes as if urging me, “...Just who do you think it is?...”

“Ah.” I inadvertently let out a groan. “So you... are you suggesting Santa Claus is involved?”

“That’s correct. In other words… to put it bluntly… Santa Claus appeared in that room.” I was considerably startled. “But that’s an exceptionally cruel Santa Claus, isn’t it?”

“That’s correct. An outrageous Santa Claus indeed… Perhaps a demon came disguised as Santa Claus,” Mr. Tabei said there, suddenly reverting to a serious tone as he stood up. “No—but it seems that disguise has already begun to peel away. …I’ve already unraveled more than half of this mystery. Now then—let’s give chase to Santa Tarosu’s trail.”

Mr. Tabei went to the entrance of the living room, informed the police officer inside who had been busily taking notes on the scene’s condition that he was going out, then exited through the front entrance while signaling to me with his eyes. Though I didn’t understand why, I found myself drawn to Mr. Tabei’s confident demeanor and unsteadily rose to my feet. And while envisioning both those bizarre ski tracks we were about to pursue and the portly officer who must now, at that very moment, have been standing at the tracks’ endpoint with arms crossed and gazing up at the night sky, I followed after Mr. Tabei.

However, upon stepping outside, Mr. Tabei—for some reason—did not circle toward the back window but instead stood at the front gate bordered by hedges and began sweeping his gaze around the street in all directions. There on the snow lay several footprints from comings and goings trampled into disarray, while pale-faced neighbors stood watching. What on earth had happened?

“Mr. Tabei. The footprints are from the back window.” “Ah, those?” Mr. Tabei turned around and, “Those are no longer relevant. I’m searching for another set of tracks.” “Another set of tracks?” Before I could stop myself, the question slipped out. “Precisely!” Mr. Tabei chuckled. “There was only a single set of tracks outside the window. Now, that wouldn’t account for a round trip, would it? If Santa Claus exited from there, there should be matching entry tracks—and if he entered from there, exit tracks would naturally exist.” He glanced up at the Asami house’s roof with a sardonic smile. “No matter how you look at it, Santa couldn’t have squeezed through that narrow chimney… This isn’t some children’s story we’re dealing with.”

Indeed, there must be tracks showing where he entered from. I realized my own obtuseness and involuntarily felt my face flush. But at that moment, a certain idea flashed through my mind like lightning.

“Ah, Mr. Tabei. I’ve got it now.” “…Before eight o’clock, snow was falling, right?” “So Santa Claus entered here before eight o’clock and left after the snow stopped past eight, right?” “Therefore, the tracks from when he entered were erased by the snow, leaving only those from when he exited behind, right?”

To my surprise，Mr.Tabei shook his head quietly. “That’s where you’re completely mistaken.” “I see—that line of thinking is plausible at first glance.” “I，too，initially considered that possibility when I first saw only one set of ski tracks beneath that window.” “However，when I later heard from you that those ski tracks had disappeared，I realized that was incorrect.” “The problem lies in those footprints that disappeared midway.”

“When you say that…?” “So it was indeed because the snow had accumulated?”

“That’s right.” “So why did that snow fall in such a patchy, unfair manner?”

Then Mr. Tabei placed his hand on my shoulder.

“You erred at the foundation of your deduction.” “Let me clarify—within that room, a person had been killed and a precious child taken.” “With the window left wide open and those single-pole ski tracks visible in the snow outside—apparently made by someone carrying a child under one arm—by the time you observed all this, you’d already concluded that the mysterious figure who abducted the child had escaped through that window, hadn’t you?” “That constitutes your fundamental error,” Mr. Tabei said, altering his tone and gesturing emphatically. “Now then—let us examine this hypothetical scenario.” “Consider this—a person walks through heavily falling snow.” “But suppose that while continuing to walk, the snow suddenly ceases and the weather turns clear—how would their footprints then remain?” “To elaborate: while snow falls, any footprints formed are simultaneously erased. Yet when the snowfall stops abruptly, footprints begin accumulating precisely from that cessation point onward.” “If you trace these footprints backward against their direction of travel, they’ll appear to fade and vanish as though the walker had dissolved… This indicates neither snowfall after their passage nor walking after the snow stopped—rather, the snowfall ceased midway through their journey. Now you grasp the truth behind those vanished tracks.” “In essence—the maker of those tracks didn’t exit through this house’s window at that moment. They entered through it.” “Furthermore, since tonight’s snowfall ceased precisely around eight o’clock, we can logically deduce Santa Claus entered this house through the window near eight o’clock after approaching from town.”

“I see—that makes perfect sense now,” I added while scratching my head. “Then what about those single-pole tracks?” “That?” Mr. Tabei replied. “That’s of no consequence. As you initially surmised, Santa Claus was indeed carrying something in one hand—not the child, but the large cardboard toy box soaked with snow that lay overturned in that room. It was Santa’s gift…” He paused meaningfully before continuing. “Now you must grasp the full picture. Given that the window footprints undeniably came from outside, with no exit tracks elsewhere and neither Santa nor the child remaining in the house, they must have departed through the front entrance… Tell me—when you first rushed here, did you notice any such footprints at the front? That party left before you arrived.”

“Well, that… I was in such a panic, you see…”

“Well, there’s no help for it.” “Let’s go through the trouble of searching these numerous tracks for single-pole marks.” Mr. Tabei immediately crouched down and began hunting for matching traces. Naturally I followed suit, starting to wander through the faint white glow of snowlight. The crowd of rubberneckers lining the main street watched our movements with gleaming curious eyes, wondering what had transpired.

On the snow, our and the police officers’ numerous ski tracks crisscrossed chaotically, making it exceedingly difficult to find the single-pole ski tracks. The police officers who had gone to investigate the end of those ski tracks seemed to have finally returned, making the house feel noticeably livelier.

At that moment, Mr. Tabei came over to me and suddenly posed a question.

“The one who arrived here before you was that Miki from Class A, correct?…Miki was wearing adult skis, wasn’t she?”

When I nodded,

“So they really are the child’s after all.” While muttering something incomprehensible, he led me along the road’s hedge to where two sets of ski tracks remained and said while pointing at them: “It’s only natural there are no single-pole tracks.” “The child wasn’t carried off by Santa Claus—he was led by Santa Claus and skied away on his own.”

Indeed, on the snow, alongside adult ski tracks, slightly narrower ski tracks proceeded down the main street. “Come now—let’s hurry and follow these tracks before they call us in for questioning.”

We immediately set off skiing.

Since a considerable amount of time had passed, there was no telling how far the owners of those tracks had progressed. I started skiing with that thought in mind, but after advancing some fifty meters along the hedge, both tracks abruptly veered right as if avoiding something approaching from ahead. I froze. This was the neighboring vacant house. The two tracks seemed to have entered through the front of a low hedge, bypassed the entrance, and circled around from the side of the dark building toward the rear. Holding our breath, we began tracing them.

“It was unexpectedly close, wasn’t it?” Mr. Tabei remarked with an ashen face as they walked. “This seems likely to end ominously… By the way, who do you suppose Santa Claus really is?… You’ve already realized, haven’t you?” I shook my head violently, trembling. Mr. Tabei stepped into the vacant house’s garden while continuing, “Even if you know, isn’t it difficult to voice?… In these circumstances, who would go to such lengths as becoming Santa Claus to deliver gifts through a window?… Moreover, the child could ski alongside without being carried… If I recall correctly, there was a train arriving in H City around seven-thirty? ……I can’t help suspecting Mr. Asami returned on that train a day earlier than planned.”

“What? Sanshirō?!” I involuntarily shouted. “Preposterous! Even if Sanshirō did return, why would he commit such atrocities… No—how could a man who loved his family so deeply do such things?!”

But by that time, Mr. Tabei—who had circled around to the back of the vacant house—found two sets of skis, one large and one small, discarded beneath a window there. He immediately lunged at the unlatched window and disappeared into the pitch-dark room. I then lunged at the window frame—and at that moment, from within the darkness, I heard Mr. Tabei’s trembling moan rise up. “Ah… We were too late after all…” As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I too finally saw the disfigured form of Asami Sanshirō hanging by a curtain cord suspended from the ceiling. At his feet lay the child, strangled by a band, as if asleep. A few chocolate balls lay scattered. Beside them lay a neatly folded piece of paper. Mr. Tabei picked it up, glanced briefly at its cover, and silently handed it to me. That was Sanshirō’s sole suicide note addressed to me.

Appearing to have been hastily written by snowlight, it was a rough pencil scrawl, but by the window, trembling as I was, I managed to decipher it.

Mr. Hatano. At last, I have fallen into hell. But I want you alone to know the truth of what happened. The Agricultural School was closed one day earlier than planned due to an avalanche. Having arrived in town on the seven-thirty train, I realized tonight was Christmas Eve and hurried home after buying a present for Haruo. You understood well—or so I believe—how ordinary a man I was and how I loved my wife, my child, and our home. I thought about how overjoyed my wife and child would be at my returning home a day earlier than planned. The more I imagined this, the more I wanted to make that joy even greater for them—and suddenly, the idea of Santa Claus occurred to me. Bursting with joy, I deliberately circled to the back of the house, muffled my footsteps, and reached the living room window. Quietly removing my skis and planting my pole against them, I climbed onto the window frame. As I pictured my family’s astonished delight in my mind, I opened the glass door.

Ah! But there—I had seen what I should never have seen! Upon entering the room, I hurled the gift toy box—that clump of all my happiness until that moment—at Oikawa and my wife, who clung trembling to each other on the sofa.

But Mr. Hatano. How could such an act quell this seething hatred? What I then did with the fireplace poker through streaming tears—you must already know. Not wanting Haruo—who had awoken in the adjacent room—to learn what I'd done, I deceived him and fled outside together. Ah, but now I've lost every path of escape. Even were there refuge somewhere—how could this wounded heart ever find salvation?

Mr. Hatano. I will cling to this meager comfort—that my beloved Haruo accompanies me at the outset of this dark journey.

Farewell.

Sanshirō

Outside the window, a night wind had risen unnoticed, whipping up a snowstorm that swirled like funeral flowers all around. At that very moment, the church bells—which had momentarily fallen silent—began tolling faintly once more, constricting my trembling heart as if with water.

("Shin Seinen" (Shin Seinen," Shōwa 11, December Issue)